Meet my hot mom
Donna Kirby was not sure the idea was good, allowing Kathy to stay with them.
For one thing, Kathy was quite young and, for another thing, she seemed to have run away from home. It was the third reason that bothered her most: Kathy seemed to be very seductive.
It was in her blue eyes, on her exquisite face, even in her posture. The first time Donna saw the girl, which was the day before, she had seen something in those wide, not-so-innocent eyes. Despite the youth of the girl, those eyes were hot. They literally steamed with an inner eroticism that was bold, blatant.
There was something about Kathy's eyes that told Donna she was actually boiling with sexual heat. Some girls have it and some don't, but Donna thought Kathy had more than her share. Erotic desire seemed to ooze from the girl, seemed to envelop her with a sort of scent that drew boys like magnets. There was an aura of sexuality that clung to Kathy that radiated outward.
Kathy was small, quite small for her age, yet she was beautifully shaped, with small, tight tits that were capped with twin nipples. She had an exciting little ass, twin bubbles of firm flesh which writhed inside the tightness of her jeans as she walked. And Kathy did not seem to be concerned that the crotch of those jeans molded and outlined the puffiness of her cunt.
Kathy had arrived in tow, with her son, Bobby, wearing those tight jeans and a T-shirt, and very little else. She had no luggage, no change of clothing, nothing. She had not been wearing a bra, and her nipples were bold against the T-shirt.
The story had been plausible; the girl had no home and no place to go. When Donna questioned Kathy, the girl said she had left her foster home two weeks previous after a beating by her foster mother. She had no parents, she explained, and the only homes she had ever known were foster homes. Kathy had told Donna she never had any choice in where she was sent, but everyplace she lived people used her, were cruel to her, made her do all the work.
Bobby had found Kathy inside an old crumbling abandoned warehouse and had brought her home with him. Donna could not blame her son; he was always bringing home stray animals. And that was what Kathy reminded Donna of a stray kitten.
If Kathy's story were true, then Donna would help the little girl all she could. But if it weren't, then she would have to locate her parents and return the girl to her home.
Donna sat at the kitchen table, drinking coffee, thinking about the night before. It was close to noon, and her son, with Kathy, was in the back yard.